


Does it hurt?

by Miishae



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood, Darkiplier - Freeform, Not a ship fic, One Shot, Possession, Torture, Violence, antisepticeye, jacksepticeye mention, markiplier mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 06:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13358223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miishae/pseuds/Miishae
Summary: Anti and Dark have been playing a game for a little while now. They want to see which of the two is more powerful.





	Does it hurt?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't ship Septiplier, and I guess an aside is I don't ship Dark/Anti either. At the very least, I could see them as reluctant allies. That aside, I've had some sort of craving to write fanfiction about Dark and Anti for a while now, and I guess I just gave in.  
> I also prefer them as dark and dangerous, murderous rather that lighter and more humorous. I understand it's more personal taste, but any story I post about the egos is going to be rather unpleasant.

“Does it hurt?”

That voice, while low and silky, still holds the underlying cruelty that only this creature could wield. It’s soft, quiet enough to induce relaxation, but the malice behind it is thick enough to send Anti’s heart into a furious drumbeat.

Anti’s suspended in the air. His arms are above his head as he dangles from ceiling-hung chains. Around his ankles are more chains, though a large concrete ball hangs from them, scraping the floor with a headache-inducing noise everytime Anti shifts. Of course, Darkiplier had to take this odd torture one step further: he’d removed every last piece of clothing from Anti, leaving him shiving. His pale, almost green tinged body is covered in a thin sheet of sweat, mixed with smeared blood from where Dark had abused him.

It’d almost be erotic, but Anti knows Dark well enough to know of his hatred for the competition.

“Does it hurt?” Dark repeats. He’s standing somewhere off to the side, half-hidden in shadow. The other half is illuminated by the room’s dim lighting, and it shows off his eerie red-blue glow quite nicely. He looks amused by Anti’s struggling, lips curled up in a smile that matches the smooth cadence of his voice. Anti keeps his gaze Anti’s not stupid enough to answer the question. It’s obviously loaded, and an answer in either direction would result in more pain. Anti can handle quite a bit more, but they’d already been at this for days, and he’s _exhausted_.

“I asked you a question,” Dark snarls. His stance changes, and he lunges forward, one hand gripping Anti’s throat in split second. His grip is tight and effective in slowing down Anti’s air intake; it’s still slower than his usual attacks. Anti is sure this means that Dark’s tired himself. “Answer me, Imbecile!”

“What’s the matter,” Anti taunts. “Losing steam?” He can’t even laugh, because that’s air he doesn’t currently have. _Curse this damn body_. “Can’t get enough stamina to your host?”

Dark’s fingernails dig into Anti’s throat as he glares. He’s trembling now, barely able to contain the rage inside. Anti’s still grinning, watching him. He doesn’t care that he’s losing air by the second, watching Dark come undone is far more enjoyable. “Ha-” he gasps. “-stupid bitch-”

Dark yanks his hand back, looking offended over such a crude term. Anti immediately starts coughing and wheezing, trying to get his breath back. As powerful as he is, he recognizes that in a human body, he still has to breathe. It’s infurating. He doesn’t miss the fact that Dark is inspecting the blood on his fingernails though. “Are you quite done?” Dark’s voice is back to being silky, rather than uncontrolled anger. Anti likes it better like this: it means they can go back to playing their game.

“No,” Anti says. His head lolls to the side, resting against his arm as he studies Dark. “Do I look like a quitter to you?”

“You look like a cretin.” Dark turns his nose up. “I told you to run home.”

“I’m still home,” Anti taunts. “When I get out of this I’ll show you.” He doesn’t have the energy right now. He can feel his host just beneath the surface, some idiotic whining about exhaustion and pain. Anti ignores it, since none of that is important.

“When,” Dark counters. He snorts, an action that only his host has done. “You’re not ready for anything. Why do you think you’re here-” he flicks a droplet of blood in Anti’s direction. It lands on his hip. “-and I’m _here_?” He straightens his suit.

“You got _lucky_ ,” Anti sneers. The smile drops from his face. “I can _destroy_ you.” He resumes struggling, causing that cursed ball to drag once more. “I’m stronger than you.”

“I don’t care.” Dark pulls a napkin out of his pocket and wipes his fingers clean. “You’ve been nothing but talk since you first appeared. What have you even _done_? You killed your host? I’m not threatened by you.”

“What have _you_ done?” Anti counters. His voice raises a few notes, and he’s aware it more resembles the onset of a tantrum rather than a coherent argument. “I at least have a body count! You? You’re just a walking suit.”

Dark doesn’t appear to react. He gazes at Anti, his stupid aura pulsating, alternating colors. The red is more vivid than the blue, which means Dark is definitely angry. Visibly, he seems calm, like he might actually be contemplating which kind of coffee to get before work.

Wordlessly, Dark walks over to a nearby table. Anti stops watch Dark, and starts studying the contents on the table, one of which is his own knife.

“You want to know what I’m capable of?” Dark asks. It’s the same tone as his original question, and Anti’s heart starts beating again. He’s not furious anymore. “You want to know what makes me so dangerous?” Dark is grinning again as he picks the knife up, inspecting it. It’s covered with dried blood, almost in danger of rusting over. He turns back to Anti, raising the knife. He’s still speaking as he inches closer, swaying from side to side. His movements are hypnotic, and Anti’s eyes widen.

“I don’t care about anyone,” he says. “You’ve killed one person.” He plunges the knife into Anti’s side. “Three lives were destroyed in order for me to exist.” His grin is more malicious, more twisted and jagged. He starts sliding the knife downward, cutting a large gash into Anti’s flesh.

“I’m not stopped by the body you possess.” Dark’s voice was now a whisper. “Nothing and no one gets in my way, least of all you.”

He lets his fingers slide away from the handle, barely grazing the edge. Anti’s gritting his teeth, chest heaving as he tries not to cry out in pain. His hosts screams are filling his head, loud enough to almost drown out Dark’s words. It’s distracting, and for the first time, Anti knows fear.

“Now, I’ll ask again,” Dark says calmly. He turns the knife upside down before dragging it upwards, slicing through new flesh and muscle, and probably scraping bone too. His gaze calmly flicks up to Anti’s.

“Does it hurt?”


End file.
